


Birthday Swords

by mournholdvacation



Category: Elder Scrolls
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:27:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21538216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mournholdvacation/pseuds/mournholdvacation
Summary: An ancient, enchanted sword for her daughter's birthday is of little surprise.One carved from Stalhrim, is a little bit sweeter.
Kudos: 8





	Birthday Swords

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AeAyem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AeAyem/gifts).



> Iliah belongs to AeAyem.

Mournhold is: beautiful tonight; a washed away painting of blurred color dripping down the center and pooling upon the Temple in a muted rainbow. 

Iliah, long drawn into dream, rests in Almalexia’s lap, one hand still gripping the scabbard of the sword found only this morning embedded in a Redoran Councilor’s favorite chair.

It’s ebony, a curved blade set with daedric lettering and an enchantment of bloodlust, a sword to thirst for first draw and fit to win any duel set before its wielder. Wrapped scabbard, leather the color of midnight and stretched thin over covered, wooden runes. Unfit for a child of eight, but beloved far more than any toy. 

It’s not her only one. 

Vivec’s eyes are closed as ze strums the cords on hir lute, playing the last, soft notes of a song Almalexia can’t quite recall but brings the smell of a warm, summer day and wildflowers to mind. Her head falls against hir shoulder, moving in steady rhythm as hir chest rises and falls. 

Stalhrim, carved by hand and mined, she is sure, from the coldest mines of lost Atmora. A dragon upon the blade, clinging to the edge and wrapping itself about it like a snake about its prey. Tonight it is a hidden predator, lost within the ice but the morning’s sun had set it ablaze; a spewing YOL that had issued flame from its tip. 

The song comes to an end and Almalexia whispers a request into Vivec’s ear; about a thrice sealed house and the dawn of godhood. Ze chuckles, the stars are already upon earth; radiant and holding onto dreams with their outstretched hands - and what could be more beautiful?

Iliah’s sword is smaller, no less elegant. A daughter’s coming of age that she will in time wield with grace but rests on her legs now like a comforting blanket as she dreams of that day. No dragon here, but a story told in a dragon’s roar that she’s proud to read and prouder still that they can almost hear the grand battle unfolding over the hills. 

Tomorrow the goddess will place hers with the others; lay it upon the stone with tattered cloth and admire the way they seem to fit together like clutching hands. The year’s dust will be wiped away, the centuries old craftsmanship admired and each sliced through the air like an extension of her arm. 

Tonight though, she is content.

Content in the sound of her lover’s voice.

Content in the sigh of her sleeping child. 

And content in the assurance that Mournhold’s god has a god of her own.


End file.
